the sweet release of gratitude

I almost didn’t stop today. At the end of a long school day, the only thing I feel like doing is trading my work clothes for something cozy and collapsing in a heap on my couch. Sure, a walk in the crisp autumn sunshine would be good for me, but I was feeling grouchy and stubborn, and I just wanted to go home. But when traffic clogged at the entrance to my apartment complex, I gave in to the inner urging and turned right instead of left. Anyone who lives under the permacloud south of Lake Michigan knows the rarity of bright skies in November; in spite of my initial reluctance, I knew I would relish this sunny afternoon outdoors.

I took my usual route at a brisk walk, appreciating all the warmth my hooded “recess-duty” coat afforded. The wind blew forcefully through the tree branches above me, clattering among the rusted oak leaves and stinging my cheeks a bright pink. Much of the neighborhood was shaded by this point in the day, but high overhead and around a few corners sunlight glinted still, teasing brighter hues out of what little foliage remained. I caught myself angling toward the edge of the road where scattered leaves had clustered against the curb. Smiling in childlike delight, I shuffled through the piles.

Rounding the last curve before heading back to my car, I heard the telltale sound of a leaf blower. Pixie flames crackled among the dead leaves mounded high on a dormant garden plot, billowing fragrant smoke across the roadway. I willingly walked through the fog, inhaling deeply. A pleasing aroma, I thought, like incense rising from an altar …

gratitude as an offering

With Thanksgiving upon us, gratitude seems a worthy topic to ponder. The leaf smoke swirling across my path stirred me to think of gratitude as an offering. What kind of gratitude is most pleasing to the Lord? I wondered. Like the widow’s mite or David’s threshing floor, when is gratitude a most costly sacrifice, worthy of the God who receives it?

Frequently, when the sun is shining and things are going well, gratitude rises effortlessly from a willing heart. But what about those other times? When I’m feeling grumpy and unthankful, rumpled after a taxing day or some unwelcome news … and I manage to lay aside my selfishness to praise. Or the times I’m feeling a bit sorry for myself, caught up in recounting all the things that haven’t gone as I’d planned; I imagine there’s great value in transforming my litany of complaints into one of gratitude. 

What about those for whom pain is a constant? Surely their whispered words of thanksgiving are precious to our Father. And when, from the deepest wells of grief and heartache comes bursting up a clear, bright note of praise like a star burning through the blackest night … that must be the sweetest sound of all.

There is a holy tenacity to gratitude that says, “In spite of adverse circumstances, and because of abundant grace, I choose to praise.”

The enemy of our souls must absolutely hate it when we assume an intentional position of gratitude. After all, gratitude is a posture of humility, of surrender. It acknowledges that we are not in control, but that we trust the One who is sovereign over us. Indeed, there is a holy tenacity to gratitude that says, “In spite of adverse circumstances, and because of abundant grace, I choose to praise.” It is a pillar of fire in a darkened wilderness, a beacon of hope vivid through the gray. It is the hallmark of a spirit that refuses to be dampened or drowned out. It is the rallying cry of faith.

in all circumstances

“Give thanks IN ALL CIRCUMSTANCES,” Paul says to the Thessalonians. He doesn’t specify what to be thankful for, but he is very clear on the when. And right alongside are the synonymous commands to rejoice and to pray (see 1 Thess. 5:16-18). Always and everywhere, we are to be about these things. As believers in Jesus, this is to be our attitude, our mandate, our identity: joy, thanksgiving, and unending communication with our Lord.

Is this what you see in the believers around you? Is this what you see in yourself? I have been asking this question of my own heart, friend, and let me be honest: I am not at all satisfied with my answer.

I recognize this sweet spirit in Jesus, the beautiful Savior I so dearly long to reflect. When I hold still long enough to breathe in His presence, the aroma of joy, humility, thanksgiving, and communion with the Father is precisely the fragrance I catch coming off His clothes. My scent is not at all pleasing by comparison, and I break again at His altar. “God, forgive me the stench of my sin!”

“But thanks be to God, who always leads us as captives in Christ’s triumphal procession and uses us to spread the aroma of the knowledge of him everywhere. For we are to God the pleasing aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To the one we are an aroma that brings death; to the other, an aroma that brings life. And who is equal to such a task?”

2 Cor. 2:14-16

Who, indeed?

sweet release

Even hours later, my hair is faintly redolent of smoke. I passed near that fire for the briefest moment, but the fragrance lingers, stirring favorable memories. By the simple fact of my redemption, I am to my God a sweet reminder of His Son’s sacrifice. Still, I long to live in such a way that my own aroma mingles more agreeably with that of Jesus.

In this season of unrest and bitterness that has washed over the world, how can I lift a pleasing aroma to my Lord?

Another choice to surrender,

a sacrifice of praise, though my flesh resists,

and an open heart, offering the sweet release of gratitude.